


Running From the Law in a Pink '57 Ford T-Bird Convertible

by Queen_of_the_Ruckus



Category: Noblesse (Manhwa)
Genre: 1960s, California, Car Sex, Deep Throating, Drinking, M/M, Modern Ragar AU, Nevada, Pink Thunderbird Convertible, Porn, Road Head, Smoking, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:50:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23777065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_of_the_Ruckus/pseuds/Queen_of_the_Ruckus
Summary: On the road, you’ve gotta make your own fun. 1960s era Franken and Ragar banging in a pink convertible, because aesthetic.
Relationships: Frankenstein (Noblesse)/Ragar Kertia, Frankenstein/Ragar Kertia/Cadis Etrama Di Raizel
Comments: 11
Kudos: 19





	Running From the Law in a Pink '57 Ford T-Bird Convertible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [escspace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/escspace/gifts).



The smooth lines and distinct bubbly curves were truly something to behold. A uniformed teen gaped in awe as the pink Thunderbird, dusty from the long road but otherwise as sleek and flawless as it was when first assembled, rumbled off the sweltering road and towards a modest and similarly dusty gas station. Top down and radio blasting, the young attendant hurried over to greet the new customers and top off the beautiful machine, excited at the prospect of actually _touching_ it. 

The car hadn’t yet come to a stop when a lean figure slid over the passenger-side door, smooth as mercury. The young man’s head turned briefly to catch a glimpse of long blonde ponytail and slim-cut black leather jacket before the door to the station store swung shut. Abruptly, his head snapped back to the purring behemoth now waiting at the pump.

A striking older man with unfashionably long blonde curls and crisp, navy sport coat nodded in acknowledgement as he waited for service, expression unreadable behind dark acetate sunglasses. He lit up a fresh cigarette and took a long drag, absently scanning the sweltering desert that gave way to distant mountains and faded sky far beyond the low veil of the ever-present heat distortion.

“Aren’t you hot, mister?”

The attendant’s words slurred together awkwardly as he addressed the man now resting languidly in the driver’s seat, stunned at this glimpse into the life of the fantastic. His own face reflected back at him darkly from the driver’s glasses, giving him the surreal visual of sitting in his place. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Dressed like you are in a place like this, aren’t you too hot? It’s sweltering out, even in the shade.” The gas attendant’s words slowed to an understandable pace, even as he shifted to stand a bit straighter. He rested a hand against the hot pink steel just for the hell of it, seizing this chance even at the expense of his comfort.

“Not with the top down,” the man dismissed after a moment. He took another long drag before glancing back towards the empty road.

The attendant shuffled awkwardly before trying once again to spark up a conversation, the gasoline still flowing. “Where are you going, if you don’t mind me asking? We don’t get many folks like you around here.”

“Folks like me?” he mused, eyebrows rising in a tired sort of amusement. The young man squirmed at his own words. “We aren’t going anywhere. We’ve been just about everywhere you can think of, but we really aren’t going anywhere.” 

He turned to survey the station store before pausing to tip down his designer sunglasses, his gaze appreciative and strikingly blue. A small smile graced his lips.

A shadow slipped silently past the distracted attendant, hopping lightly back into the passenger seat, his hands now occupied with heavy bags. The young man suppressed a jump, but a chill still passed through his lanky frame. He hadn’t even heard the station door, let alone any footsteps.

He sheathed the gas nozzle and ran a wet rag over the windshield before waving them off, the silent passenger already possessing the receipt for his services. The driver passed him a couple of neatly folded bills before driving off, tires squealing on the aging asphalt road.

The attendant watched in awe as the driver took a healthy swig straight from a bottle of cheap gas station wine, the outlandish tip clutched carefully in both hands. After a moment, he managed to stop gaping like a fish, something important surfacing in his star-struck brain. 

"H-hey! Hey, mister! Didn't ya hear? It's NOT LEGAL TO DRINK WHILE DRIVING, ANYMORE!!!" Even as he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, he knew there wasn't any use. They were too far gone, now nothing more than retreating pink tail fins and glinting chrome in the fading summer sun.

***

The look Ragar shot Frankenstein was devoid of any amusement. When that failed to elicit the desired response, he extended an expectant hand, his stare flat and unwavering. 

Their hair whipped and fluttered roughly in the wind. Frankenstein’s cigarette sputtered ambiently in his left hand, smoke swirling lightly in the air pocket behind the windshield as he held the steering wheel steady. Defiant and perhaps a bit tart, he tilted the bottle at a more dramatic angle, draining its contents before passing it back to his unsmiling companion.

“I was not aware that it was illegal or I would not have handed you the bottle.” Ragar tugged at his mask in mild irritation before turning away, gaze settling on the rough hewn rocks rising up dramatically from the desert floor.

“It’s perfectly legal where we’re going, Ragar. We’ll be out of this infernal state in a few hours.”

The moments passed by in relative silence for a while. Ragar fiddled with the radio dial, favoring current hits and blaring them loudly, the music in constant competition with the dull roar of the wind and road. Finally, he turned back to his companion, respectfully allowing his moment of sadness to fade before offering comfort. “I also thought that Sir Raizel might be there. He was not among those wealthy or well-known, but there are other such places to search. Now that we have made new connections, we might return to New York to try again. We might revisit London and Paris.”

“You’re right, of course. It was foolish to expect results so simply. It’s just-” his voice caught and he covered it under another deep drag on his cigarette.

“It is good to have hope, Frankenstein. We _will_ find him. But I do understand your disappointment and your concern. I also feel them. We’ve been searching for a long time.”

Frankenstein adjusted his sunglasses in much the same way that Ragar pulled at his mask. Even his noble companion thought that Raizel had been missing for too long. He was startled out of his downward drifting thoughts by the uncorking of a fresh bottle of convenience store wine. “It tastes like sour grapes and cheap chemicals, not like what you’re accustomed to,” he warned.

Ragar didn’t respond, instead pulling down his mask to drink, ever elegant.

“I thought you didn’t _approve_ of drinking in the car.”

“I disapprove of breaking the _laws_ , Frankenstein. I am not the one driving.” With an air of self-righteous teasing, he took another long swill.

Frankenstein smirked at his companion’s analytical thinking, pleased and growing abruptly playful. He pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head, ground out his cigarette into the built-in ashtray, then ran his free hand down Ragar’s thigh before bringing it back up to rest warmly between his legs. Feeling Ragar’s response, he tightened his grip.

“I think you should set that down for a moment and take the wheel.”

“Is that allow-” Ragar gasped and reached over to grab at the abandoned steering wheel, Frankenstein already bent over, unzipping Ragar’s tight jeans and drawing out his cock.

“You should set that down, you know. It wouldn’t do to break... _the law_.”

“I’m not drinking the-” he found himself cut off yet again as Frankenstein greedily swallowed him down, taking him into his throat and teasing skillfully with his tongue. A hot flush crept up Ragar’s face and he wedged the bottle against the seat to tug uselessly at his mask.

He stared stiffly ahead, his eyes dutifully trained to the road despite his companion aggressively sucking him off.

“Hmm…” Frankenstein hummed around him before pulling off wetly. He took up stroking his length with both hands as he innocently peered up at his friend, his eyes bright and beguiling. “You know, come to think of it, this might not be legal either…,” he trailed off with a sharp smirk. “You should cum quickly if you’d like me to take up the wheel.”

Ragar’s blush deepened, his wide eyes narrowing intently. He nodded once and Frankenstein went back to work, blonde hair fluttering in the breeze as he bobbed expertly up and down. Ragar tensed as he allowed himself to be brought to the edge.

Frankenstein pulled up once more, this time smiling sweetly, silently watching Ragar’s brow crease and his posture stiffen. He was still devilishly close to his friend, each breath ghosting heat against his now achingly cold and abandoned cock.

Ragar spared a quick glance down at Frankenstein, inquiring of the problem. A mischievous glow seemed to light up his vivid eyes and suddenly he understood. Frankenstein wasn’t going to do this alone. Mildly frustrated, he reached to stroke himself, only to have his hand pushed firmly away. 

“Hmm. No, I don’t think so…” Frankenstein’s eyes now seemed wicked and sharp.

His hand hung in the empty air for a long moment, hesitant as gears turned and the lonely highway sped past. At long last he lay it on top of Frankenstein’s head. He pushed down lightly to test his theory, gaining confidence as his companion made no move to stop him.

Long fingers tangled roughly in Frankenstein’s windswept hair and he found himself abruptly forced down. Tears welled up unbidden as his throat was fucked raw. He sucked and licked and hummed around Ragar, immensely pleased with the situation and enjoying the mild pain. Keen ears picked up a soft groan as cum filled up his mouth and trickled down his throat. The hand holding him down slipped down to rest gently on his shoulder as he gave one last long swallow. 

And then he was up and holding onto the wheel with both hands, smiling as the sun began to dip low behind them. Setting on their recent fruitless endeavors. Setting on Hollywood, on the whole of California, on the seemingly endless list of dead-end clues regarding Raizel's whereabouts. 

Ragar took a deep steadying gulp of cheap wine, using the moment to cool down. Then he passed the bottle over to Frankenstein, extending it to him to help wash down his cum. Complicit in his actions regardless of intent, yet standing beside him with loyalty and pride.

***

An illuminated billboard advertisement hovered brightly over the silhouette of a parked car, its bright rectangle larger than life, more vivid than any television set. A clean-cut, masculine man endlessly brandishing a cigarette, decrying the quality to any who drove by. 

The car parked below was not still, rocking rhythmically in the light of a heavy desert moon.

Ragar lay splayed out across the broad pink hood, head tilted back up at the moon. His leg was thrown carelessly over Frankenstein’s shoulder, his companion’s normally immaculate clothing disheveled and undone, the crisp sport coat draped carefully over a headlight. With each thrust, Ragar moaned softly, his breathing harsh and quick.

So engrossed were they in each other, that they failed to notice a lone car slow down on the highway. The tell-tale siren and flashing red and blue lights, however, were not something they could miss.

**Author's Note:**

> Esc, this one’s a freebie. Fic trade and more good things to come! <3
> 
> Drinking while driving was legal once upon a time. In some states, this would have been fine up through the 80s. In the time that this was set, some places were also just starting to let people pump their own gasoline. It’s amazing, I now do more research for my fanfiction than I do for my homework assignments.
> 
> PSA: Road head is dangerous, please do not attempt! Also, I am aware that it’s supposed to be the passenger giving it to the driver, but let’s not split hairs. Ragar was steering, I think that still counts. (Yes, confirming my own knowledge on the subject is still a part of the PSA.)
> 
> ‘Van Horn’ by Saint Motel (for the smut)  
> ‘Sedona’ by Houndmouth (for setting)


End file.
